


Banquet

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Dominance, Exhibitionism, Light BDSM, M/M, No Dialogue, Sibling Incest, Submission, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:52:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5126543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One by one, Melkor takes Fëanor’s jewels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Banquet

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I labeled it AU for the sake of having Melkor as Annatar and Sauron easily moving about Valinor before the Noldor leave, so suspend your belief. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He does it, at first, because he _can_. It’s revenge and release all in one. If he can’t have Fëanáro, he will have all the things that Fëanáro loves most. Finwë stands too firm and would know him in any form, and Fëanáro has no love for the weaker things that share his father’s line, but his sons are young and vital, and though Melkor waits for them to blossom, they’re still easy to ensnare.

Nelyafinwë puts up the most fight. He comes first, and is the first Melkor _wants_ , at first with a passing interest and then a burning, all-consuming _hunger_. He can see the flame in Nelyafinwë, the talent, the strength. It’s nothing to a Vala. But among the lesser of Ilúvatar’s children, it’s impressive, and Melkor would have servants of some worth. He comes to Nelyafinwë not as _Melkor_ but as Annatar: just one more Noldor so very loyal to Nelyafinwë’s beloved grandfather.

He seduces Nelyafinwë both with his mind and body. Nelyafinwë is composed and focused on other things, but Melkor finds the cracks in his armour and feeds into them. Melkor finds him staring at his cousin, longing, behind closed eyes, and Melkor is there for him, a friend, and whispers in his ear of his worth and brings him into that friend’s arms. Melkor always has excuses when Nelyafinwë wishes to introduce that friend to his father. Melkor is only there when he wishes to be, when he’s tired of the Valar’s petty watch and games and wants to feel something _worship_ him and wants to know that he’s sullied Fëanáro’s gems. He praises Nelyafinwë, lies of his value, tells him he is beautiful and strong and good and any would be fortunate to have him, and he crumbles into Melkor’s bed, legs spread like a wanton plaything. 

But he’s virile after that. They fall into a strange relationship and meld as two captains would, fierce and heady with nothing held back. It can leave Nelyafinwë satiated and dizzy, and Melkor enjoys it, in his strange body, painted up like an elf. He can feel the _pleasure_. It’s limited and small, but it’s there. Mostly, Melkor delights in taking Fëanáro’s precious heir, darling firstborn, shattering his shields and spearing him open, guiding him with lies. 

Soon, it happens often. It can be anywhere out of sight. He takes Nelyafinwë hard and fast against walls, bends Nelyafinwë over furniture, fucks Nelyafinwë hard and fast on the ground, be it cold tile or soft earth. Nelyafinwë surges back and keens and roars when he comes, sometimes with another’s name on his lips, and Melkor encourages it, because that’s one more thing _Annatar holds over Maitimo._ Mostly, Nelyafinwë comes from praise. _Ardor_ makes him hard. 

But soon Melkor says that his father doesn’t give him _enough_ praise, and his uncle, his cousins would, and why hold loyal to a man that would keep him from what he most desires? Melkor whispers treachery in Nelyafinwë’s sharply pointed ear, and while he pounds his dark cock into Nelyafinwë’s warm body, he watches the doubt permeate in Nelyafinwë’s eyes. 

He takes Nelyafinwë always, even when the others come of age and fill other nights. Nelyafinwë is his prize, never to be truly set free.

* * *

He doesn’t _understand_ Kanafinwë. Kanafinwë is as precious to his father as his brother, and for that, Melkor wants him to _fall_ , but he’s too calm and delicate for Melkor to grasp. He thinks that if he tried to hold Kanafinwë in his arms, Kanafinwë would shatter.

Mairon laughs at this. He says they’re all warriors, to varying degrees, but Kanafinwë is only a hair beneath Nelyafinwë. Melkor doesn’t see it and doesn’t need to. He’s still bringing Mairon to his side. Mairon _adores_ him, and Mairon is _his_ , but the others still surround them, and Melkor offers gifts and ideas the others could never conceive. He tells Mairon of this, of his joy in despoiling Fëanáro’s own, likening it to the would-be corruption of the trees. Mairon’s eyes grow wide at this, his pretty lips broadening into a grin that Melkor kisses away. Mairon was the first for Melkor to claim and will likely be his last, if that should ever come. Mairon yields to him so easily, so greatly, that some times he can see through Mairon’s eyes. 

Mairon seduces Kanafinwë in the gardens, while Kanafinwë is singing. Mairon can often hear Kanafinwë’s music from his forge and claims it pleasing, and Kanafinwë is glad in return that he can please a Maia. Mairon asks Kanafinwë to sing for him, and offers inspiration, a tiny peak of _power_ that Mairon shaves all the evil out of. He shows Kanafinwë only light, and Kanafinwë’s eyes grow wide in awe, his song doubling in magnificence. Mairon touches him lightly, sits ever closer and idly traces patterns on his thigh, offers to braid his hair, then kisses the corner of his mouth and tells him he is _beautiful._ Melkor believes he means it. Kanafinwë is Mairon’s favourite, though Melkor still doesn’t understand. 

He watches, sometimes, when he’s bored, or when he’s fucking Nelyafinwë and he wants that extra layer in his mind. He watches Kanafinwë lie within expensive sheets or the raw flowers of a garden, and Mairon will flatten over him. They _make love_ , as Mairon says with a twisted smile, seeming to enjoy the innocence, the purity, purposed for something horrid. The form Mairon returns with is also Elven, different, though not so very much that another might not recognize him. Kanafinwë is too young for it. If his father or grandfather were to walk in on them in the gardens, Mairon might be known at once, but Melkor knows that Mairon would revel in that reveal. As it is, they’re never caught, and he spills himself inside Kanafinwë’s willing body every time. They kiss afterwards, so much _softer_ than the madness with which Mairon’s eager tongue comes to Melkor.

Kanafinwë is somehow both vocal and quiet. His breaths, in bed, are like song, and Mairon loves to lick over Kanafinwë’s throat and bid them out. Sometimes they speak through it, but in whispers. When they move too slowly, Melkor withdraws from Mairon’s mind. His devoted servant would deny it, but every once in a while, Melkor can see, in these moments, the tiny sliver of _good_ that still lives in Mairon’s being. 

He often fucks Mairon hard after, pulling at his hair and marring his body with claims and bruises, growling in his ear as a reminder: Kanafinwë is a plaything. They all are. And Mairon is _his_. 

Mairon always moans _yes, Master_ , and comes harder than he ever does inside his pet.

* * *

Turcafinwë is surprisingly easy to needle into bed. He never asks more of who Annatar is and likely doesn’t care, but when his hair’s pulled, he’ll moan and grow noticeably hard. The first few times, Melkor pulls him into an alley for a hasty round. Then Mairon follows, less cunning with words but still practiced in seduction and knowing all of the things that make Turcafinwë aroused. He submits himself to ride Turcafinwë where Melkor wouldn’t, and in Turcafinwë’s short, elegantly twisted ear, he suggests that Turcafinwë might like to be _watched_.

There is no need to look through Mairon’s eyes. Turcafinwë comes when they’re both in the room, straddles Mairon’s lap and rides his cock hard, while Melkor sits by and _stares_. Turcafinwë is beautiful, more so than any of his brothers, and knows how to display himself so. He often keeps his gold-yellow hair braided down one shoulder, and he strips everything away, arching his supple curves just right, highlighting taut muscles and flawless skin. He touches his own lips, plays with his own rosy nipples, makes the most erotic noises and flushes so prettily. He puts on a _show_. It gives Melkor immense satisfaction to know that Fëanáro’s son would reveal himself so vulnerably to Melkor, greatest of the Valar but most hated of the keeper of the Silmarils. More than once, Melkor considers revealing himself. But then he knows he won’t have this sight again, not the same way, and he waits a little longer.

Turcafinwë is exciting. He’ll try new things, and he’ll look good through every one, and he’ll suck off Mairon or ride Melkor—he doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t wait like the others do; sometimes he’ll ask around Tirion for Annatar, and Melkor, then, will often come. Melkor isn’t sure if the brothers know what he does to their siblings, but he suspects they don’t tell. Kanafinwë is more private. Nelyafinwë has some propriety. Turcafinwë presents himself fairer than he is. 

In private, he’s a beast that Melkor beats to exhaustion and covers in release, and still Turcafinwë will lift his rear up for _more_

* * *

Morifinwë takes some doing. He doesn’t like Annatar at first, finds him false and grating, as Morifinwë openly announces. Melkor takes no heed of this and simply switches tactics. He observes, and asks Nelyafinwë and Turcafinwë next time he takes them, to tell him of their brother. Nelyafinwë will say little, but Turcafinwë’s recently had an argument with him and spouts a helpful tirade. Melkor asks Kanafinwë through Mairon’s mouth, but Kanafinwë doesn’t wish to speak of it while they make love, and Mairon asks to allow this. Because Melkor has already learned enough, he agrees. 

The next time he sees Morifinwë, he doesn’t bother with honey on his tongue. He barks at Morifinwë, sees the anger flash in Morifinwë’s eyes, and when he turns to leave, Melkor grabs and yanks him back by the hair, harder than what Melkor would do with Turcafinwë. He wouldn’t wish to ruin Turcafinwë’s fair hair. Morifinwë’s is as dark as most of his brothers, and Melkor wraps around it like reins. 

Morifinwë _fights_. He tosses fists and feet and lands sprawled out on the floor, unable to understand how another Noldor, one he thinks a mere commoner, has bested him. Melkor pins him easily and smashes against his lips. Morifinwë bites him and kisses him harder. Then Morifinwë rolls them around and is grinding into Melkor’s body, and Melkor realizes that he can be truly _rough_ —this one won’t break. He can punish Fëanáro’s line the way he wants to, and this one will still come back. 

Morifinwë quickly becomes his favourite. He beats Morifinwë in bed, shoves him about hastily bought accommodations and drags fierce nail marks down his skin, leaves the grooves of teeth all over him, even slaps him about from time to time. Morifinwë fights back, not knowing that his pitiful attacks can hardly bring Melkor pain. Melkor still rewards him for it. The harder they fight, the harder they come. It’s nauseatingly _good_.

This is when Melkor makes toys, or has Mairon make them, because Mairon so delights in creating trinkets for his master. Morifinwë allows himself to be tied. Melkor binds him by the wrists, or around his neck, sometimes his arms behind his back or his hands to his feet. Morifinwë wants to tie Annatar in return but is always promised _next time_. By the time Melkor is balls-deep in Morifinwë, Morifinwë no longer complains. 

On the very, very best of rounds, Melkor will go just a little bit _too hard_ , and Morifinwë will _break._ He’ll shatter, rarely into tears, often into _pleading_ , and he’ll beg to be _fucked_ again and again, and Melkor will oblige, until he’s too damaged to walk and seems to have lost his mind to all the desperation. 

But he always gets up again. Blank-eyed, he’ll take hours to breathe, to become himself again. But then he limps out, and he returns another time, to be thrown against a wall and brutalized anew. Melkor, in a way, is _fond_ of him.

* * *

Yet the most delight comes in defiling _Curufinwë_. 

He looks _so much_ like his father, and he acts the same, with the same quick tongue and sharp eyes. Yet where his father rejected Melkor, Curufinwë comes almost freely into his arms. He hints that Annatar is a friend of Turcafinwë, and he enjoys the same sort of thing. Melkor thinks, more than once, of taking them together—wouldn’t that be debauched? He’s sure that his words are working on Nelyafinwë, and Nelyafinwë is becoming _far too close_ to Ñolofinwë’s son, and that would infuriate Fëanáro to know. But if Fëanáro were to catch two of his own sons together, with a third between or not, the results might be catastrophic.

Melkor has a special love for chaos, though he bides his time for now. He knows the Valar watch him. But there is no crime in seducing willing partners. Even Morifinwë asks for him. But none beg as sweetly as Curufinwë.

Curufinwë is a little minx. He’s devious and wild, and that draws Melkor, and he can take almost as much violence as his brother, though he doesn’t like to be marked. The game they play most is that of roles—Curufinwë takes great joy in his own name, but even more so when Melkor calls him _Fëanáro_ , and treats him such. He’s his father’s favourite, too. And he writhes in Melkor’s hands, naked and beautiful, begging for his beloved father’s greatest enemy to slip between his legs. 

They speak much afterwards. Curufinwë is the most amusing of the Eldar that Melkor’s toyed with. He can keep up the best with Melkor’s clever mind. Curufinwë seems to enjoy their word games, though Melkor never reveals much of himself, instead comprising filthy ideas of new acts he wishes to practice on his little Fëanáro. Curufinwë always obliges.

Curufinwë is a horrible little monster in such pretty skin, Melkor can _feel it_ , and Curufinwë is debauched enough to fantasize aloud that he will someday have his own son and perhaps give the same name. Melkor doubts it will happen. By the time that comes, he will have had his plans with Fëanáro, and the memory will be too painful for his darling Curufinwë to keep alive. Curufinwë is cunning and seductive and will surely take many more into his bed, and he’ll likely sire at least one son, and he will have another name. 

And perhaps Annatar will play with him, too.

* * *

The twins come last. They take them swiftest. The twins are of age when Melkor and Mairon approach them, but not as much as their brothers were, and by now Melkor can manipulate Fëanáro’s line with ease. He can read their faces and sees their first weakness: _each other_ , and with one hand on each of their hips, Melkor promises what they don’t dare to ask others. He’ll take them both at once, and they’ll feel pleasure without ever having to be apart. All they have to do is _submit_ to him, and they fall to their knees so quickly. 

Pityafinwë and Telufinwë he rarely names. He doesn’t separate them ever. He brings Mairon in, and fear flashes behind their eyes, before he assures them that Mairon has the same understanding. They shuffle the twins onto the bed, Mairon behind one and Melkor behind the other—it doesn’t matter which. Neither have any preference. This first time, Mairon’s just come from using Kanafinwë, and the twins don’t know that their brother’s spit is still on Mairon’s cock. 

Mairon takes his first, easier, Melkor following, so that both twins are stuffed full, and they gasp and writhe on their respective masters. They’re kept facing one another, and Melkor brings them closer, so that their bodies touch, their smooth skin reddening from the pressure with which they’re inflicted. They have some freckles like their eldest brother, but theirs seem to be all in the same place. They tuck their heads over each other’s shoulders and hold on to each other’s waists, legs tangled together, and moan into each other’s necks. Melkor and Mairon fuck them to the same tempo in the way that only a Vala and his Maia could do. They come at nearly the same time, and when Melkor tells them to kiss, they obediently do. Then Melkor knows he has them. 

Almost every time is like that. They’ll be taken together, at different angles but touching, or laid out side by side in the bed, their faces turned in the mattress and their fingers intertwined, while their rears are hiked into the air and Melkor and Mairon pound into them. Sometimes Melkor plays with them alone, one on either knee, but he uses his hands to fill them both, never putting his cock in one while the other can’t share the same feeling. For this, they’re the hardest to arrange, and Melkor plays with them least often, but still comes around regularly. They’ll always drop everything for him. They’re more subservient, more soft, more easy to _dominate_ than their brothers, perhaps because they know he holds their greatest secret, or perhaps because they get the most of their mother’s coddling. Either way, Melkor enjoys coming on their little faces and watching them lick each other clean.

* * *

They’re all fun, for a time. But Melkor has other plans, and Mairon works on them when he can’t, and eventually, it comes to a head. Mairon takes Kanafinwë for the last time, promising, though Kanafinwë doesn’t understand it, that he’ll be the last to fall. Melkor fucks Morifinwë so hard that there’s no chance he will be able to follow, though Melkor does think of dragging him along, if only to see the handsome hatred on his face when he learns the truth. Turcafinwë they take together, and then the twins, and Melkor visits Curufinwë just to talk, and to encourage him to sire another that Annatar might someday meet. 

Then they leave, and when they can, they ensnare Nelyafinwë again, perhaps for it to all start anew.


End file.
